


Operation: Who The Heck Are You?

by CreamoCrop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamoCrop/pseuds/CreamoCrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly." With these two, you never know when things could get quite literal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

_Two years after Reichenbach Fall and a year after Sherlock's return._

Doctor John Watson has come to consider Wednesdays as  _please-let-me-wring-his-neck_  days, Thursdays are  _give-me-one-good-reason-to-kick-his-arse_  days. But Fridays, oh sweet Fridays are definitely _maybe-no-one-would-find-his-body_  days because the last weekday is when Sherlock Holmes goes to St. Bart's to check on his on-going experiments when they don't have a case. Therefore, those are the days when John gets a front row seat of when the detective becomes a complete git towards Doctor Molly Hooper. One would think that Molly's contribution to the great drama known as The Fall would actually lessen Sherlock's insensitivity towards the good pathologist but all through out the year after his return, John only saw how it intensified.

Before the drama of The Fall, Sherlock would drop hurtful comments about the pathologist simply because he is ill-equipped with social graces. His remarks could be grudgingly forgiven because of his unfortunate nature of being blunt and tactless at the same time, but ever since his return, Sherlock seems to find something wrong with Molly every time they meet. To John, it seems as if the detective is actually  _looking_ for them. He'd relentlessly pick on her clothes, her choice in make-up or lack of, the style of her hair, her stuttering - which in John's opinion, is simply a result of the existence of a certain _someone -_ and her nervous rambles and the state of her love life.

 _Especially_  the state of her love life.

Due to Sherlock's undoings, John had been privy to the information that Molly  _tried_ to date four men during that year. The first one was a lawyer named Marcus whose  _excessive need to show off_  - Sherlock's words not John's - stems off from being a neglected child. The second was named Andrew, an accountant who has never moved past the phallic stage of the Oedipus complex resulting to a self-assured,  _borderline disturbing_  -again, Sherlock's words- narcissism Apparently, the third was a barista called Eric  _who'll probably end up dragging her to the latest comic convention and leave her in one corner in favour of the latest issue of his favorite Japanese comic strip_ \- still Sherlock's words. The last man will remain unnamed simply because the day of their first date fell on a Friday and Sherlock without looking away from his microscope simply said "Another gay."

Molly took everything with strength and patience that John can't help but admire. He knows, well _everyone_ knows, of Molly's feelings towards the detective except for the man himself, but instead of hanging on to the cliff, she chose to be a realist that made the jump in order to move on with her life. Unfortunately, Sherlock's continuing intervention acts as a trampoline that sends her shooting back up only to experience falling again. Those were the days when John wants nothing but to grab a duct tape and wind it around the detective's mouth.

Because of Sherlock, John is not a fan of Fridays anymore.

Except for this day.

This particular Friday, John found himself sitting in his chair after another heart wrenching visit at the lab. Normally, at the flat, John would want nothing but to give Sherlock a lengthy lecture about his attitude during the visit, but not today.  _Definitely_ not today.

Because today, John is sitting at his chair, highly amused, while watching a very agitated detective as he wear out their carpet with his incessant pacing.

"Does she have a memory of a goldfish?"

_'Should I take out my phone and record this?'_

"Does she need a printout to be plastered in her lab and at her house?"

_'Maybe I could show this to Mary afterwards. And Lestrade too.'_

"Do I have to get it tattooed on her?"

_'Maybe I can show this to Molly too.'_

"Is she purposely being daft?"

John quirked his eyebrows as he watch his flatmate cross their sitting room to pick his skull and hold it in eye level before turning around to resume his pacing.

Today started on as usual, bored out of his wits, Sherlock dragged John to St. Bart's in order to examine his cultures. When they entered the lab, Molly wasn't there but Sherlock paid no mind and directly went towards his workstation while John plopped himself in a nearby station before wiping out his cellphone. Everything was going on smoothly until the steel doors of the lab opened to admit the petite pathologist. Only, she wasn't alone. Beside her stood a tall raven haired man, wearing a simple black jumper and grey slim fit trousers. What's interesting, is the beautiful smile plastered in the woman's face as well as the confidence in her actions around the stranger. The bloke seemed very comfortable with Molly too and his focus was directed only to the pathologist despite the presence of two other people in the room.

If John were asked to describe the man in one word, he'd say,  _smitten._

At that realization, John's heart gave a lurch. He couldn't help but question Molly's astuteness to the situation he'd come to name:  _Sherlock's cockblocking 101._

_'She should have known better! It's Friday. The guy's going to be diced into pieces!'_

John only hoped that this is one of the guys that  _actually_ deserved to be 'diced into pieces', otherwise, he could already see bits of Molly's heart on the floor. It's not that he has no faith in Molly's choices, it's more of the fact that Sherlock's tendency to lay the cards early on the table, regardless if it isn't his, can make even the most trivial quirk of a person sound like murder. The man, however sincere his intentions are, would be subject to scrutiny like a bacteria under Sherlock's microscope. If Molly wants to get to know this person, she shouldn't have brought him in the lab during a Friday.

_'Unless...'_

His musing was cut off when Molly and her companion finally realized that they weren't alone and are in fact in the presence of an amused doctor and a seemingly oblivious - _'but definitely not'_ \- consulting detective.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, John!" With a wave of her hand and a sweet smile, Molly greeted the other occupants of the room.

"Hello Molly. Sherlock's just checking his cultures again." John, who had always been a gentleman and has good social graces greeted her but also eyeing the stranger in the hopes of an introduction. He could only wish that Molly make it quick and usher the visitor out of the lab before Sherlock becomes bothered enough to pull himself away from the microscope to state his observations. The good doctor would rather have the stranger outside and away from the lab when Sherlock fires off his criticisms rather than inside and near punching distance. Although if it comes to that, John knows Sherlock had it coming.

_'He always had it coming...'_

The detective in question still didn't flinch and John almost pleaded to the high heavens that he stays that way until the visitor goes away or better yet, until  _both_  Molly and the visitor goes away. John, who by then had come to treat Molly as a close friend, would rather suffer alone and in silence when Sherlock rattles off his complaints about Molly's current choice rather than see Molly take another blow in the heart from the man who is in his own right, the biggest source of her heartaches.

The stranger, who by then was standing close to Molly, - _'First flag!'_ \- was standing in his full height with his hands tucked in the back pockets of his trousers and his face arranged with a pleasant smile. His eyes roamed around the cold laboratory, eventually landing to where Sherlock is seated before moving to look at John. The doctor may not be as observant as his flatmate but so far, he couldn't sense anything unpleasant about the man and he hopes it stays that way.

"Oh right, this is James Kirk my friend from Uni" John extended his hand towards the man. "and this is Doctor John Watson and that's Sherlock Holmes."

James Kirk, in turn mirrored John's actions and moved forward to grip the doctor's hands. Only then did John fully realized how tall the man was, almost as tall as Sherlock but definitely not as lanky. Also, unlike Sherlock whose brooding look and billowing coat gives him a mysterious aura, this James Kirk with his wide smile, strong grip and relaxed manner seems to have the pretty boy persona going on. Not to mention he has a face to match.

"So, your the famous duo then, Molls - _'Second flag'_ \- here had been sharing stories about you two." James then went on to wrap his arms around Molly, grabbing her by the arm and moving her close to him in a friendly side-squeeze-hug.

 _'There goes the third flag.'_ John inwardly groaned as he thought about how in a matter of five minutes from the moment he stepped inside, James Kirk had done three things involving Molly that would definitely pique Sherlock's interest.

_'Please don't let this be messy.'_

By then, Sherlock still didn't show any sign that he actually wants to be included in the conversation. John could only wish it is a sign that he doesn't have anything to say, otherwise it would only mean he already have a load full of things that's enough to drown the whole floor of St. Bart's. On a chipper note however, it seems that the coast is clear because James Kirk is apparently a friend and not Molly's date.

Or not.

John's eyebrows hiked up his forehead as he watched how Molly broke into a giggle that's  _hair-thread_  away from  _flirty_  and how James Kirk's arm is still snaked around her. He could have dismissed the giggle as something he just doesn't get to see because of the presence of a certain  _someone_ and that the close proximity is a result of comfort that comes with being friends for a long time, but not the _look. Certainly_  not the look. Molly has that twinkle in her eyes, although it could still be passed on to the fact that Sherlock's in the lab or that she's a naturally...  _twinkly-eyed_ person, but Kirk's eyes is a different deal. John could almost hear, yes  _hear,_ the twinkling in the man's eyes.

He almost wants to push the two out of the door because whatever the deal is with Mr. James Kirk - plain friend, unrequited-love kind of friend, there-might-be-a-chance friend or friend-soon-to-be-boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes is not known for tolerance. If they want to save their friendship and whatever it is that is going on between them, they have to vacate immediately. That or it's him and Sherlock who has to leave because now that he knows the deep connection between the other two, it wouldn't just be Molly and Kirk who might experience a fallout.

The other end of the stick will definitely be messier. Probably because it would most likely involve bullet-riddled walls, lots of tears, odd hours of violin playing, a sad smiling pathologist that would make him feel like he whipped a day-old kitten, frustrated and bored sociopathic flatmate who will probably complain his way into a restraining order from their neighbors and, not to mention, an angry girlfriend who will  _somehow_  be involved one way or another.

Maybe this time he will  _use_  the duct tape.

"Molly I need the  _C. perfringens_ cultures." Like a god awaken from eternal slumber, or in this case self-absorption, Sherlock lifted his hand expectantly and opened his palm in the air without taking his eyes off his microscope. John simply rolled his eyes, typical Sherlock -  _attention-grabber extraordinaire._ As the detective's demand resounded through the lab, John watched as Molly's face fell into a look of doused cheerfulness and embarrassment while Kirk, who is either a naturally friendly person or someone who simply can't read the atmosphere, kept the smile on his face.

And the tight hold on Molly.

"That's on the fridge in the microbiology lab..." To John's surprise, Molly seemed to be hesitant in fulfilling Sherlock's request. In fact she made no move of getting out of Kirk's embrace.

"I need it." Still with outstretched arms, Sherlock continued to glue his focus on the microscope. How John wished Mrs. Hudson was with them right now so she could lecture the detective on keeping eye contact during conversation.

"...which is on the second floor." Carrying on with her previous statement, John could see Molly trying to subtly declare her protest but he could already see her shoulders sagging and her voice decrease in decibels - early signs of resignation.

"Please."

As the single word bounced through the walls, John can't help but turn his head towards the detective. As it goes, the word "please" could only mean two things in Sherlock's vocabulary. It's either  _I'm-using-a-fake-courteous-persona-to-get-this-ove r-with_ _please_  or a  _you're-really-testing-my-patience_ _please_. The one that had just been uttered doesn't seem to fall into any of those. It's a new kind and for a moment, John thought the word was used in the way that it was supposed to be used. Whatever it is, it actually worked and Molly slowly disentangled herself and stepped away from Kirk. The man however, made a move to follow Molly but was immediately stopped.

"No, you should stay here Jamie."

_'Jamie?'_

"I know you're tired from the long travel. Just sit in a chair and rest." Molly reached over and patted Kirk's arm. "I'll be back real quick."

With that, Molly left the lab leaving three men to deal with the awkward silence. Well, awkward mostly on John and Kirk's part, the other man in the room doesn't seem bothered at all.

After a few seconds of standing, James Kirk eventually heeded Molly's advice and went to sit on the chair across John.

"So you're the bachelor blogger everyone's talking about." Kirk's cheery demeanor didn't lessen the wince John felt upon hearing the word  _bachelor_.

"Not much of a bachelor now, really." John can't be sure but he thinks he could actually  _hear_ Sherlock roll his eyes.

_'It seems that I'm hearing a lot of things today.'_

"Oh I see." Kirk's smile grew even wider and before John could stop him, the man's eyes skittered towards the busy detective whose arm remained extended. "Congratulations then."

"Girlfriend!" John's outburst earned him a raised eyebrow from the man sitting across. "I mean, I have, ahem, a girlfriend who, if fortune allows, could actually become my fiancée soon." He can't understand why he still have to go through defending himself given that Mary and him had been together for a year and a half now. It's true though, he was planning on asking Mary to  _marry_ him. He just can't find the right time with all of Sherlock's drama.

A drama that might soon escalate into something else if Kirk is not careful with the words he is going to utter during the entire visit.

"Oh, congratulations!" The warm smile was back in place as Kirk tried to relax on his stool. "You know, Molls had been sharing all these stories about the two of you."

"Did she now?" A deep voice rumbled from the corner of the lab.

John almost emitted a groan.

_'Oh whatever higher power there is, now's the right time to intervene!'_


	2. The Talk

_'How in the world did I end up from sitting in my warm and cozy chair inside 221B to wading my way out of a fountain?'_

Doctor John Watson doesn't even know why he was pushed. In fact he doesn't even know why he was standing beside a fountain more so, that he was  _even_  beside it. All he knows was that he was following a certain consulting detective, making sure that the man stays on his leash and not dash out like a tracking dog in hot pursuit.

' ** _God_** _that made me sound like a dog walker._ '

A few minutes of distraction, divided attention and a flurry of black material after, alas John found himself sitting in his arse, cold, wet and definitely embarrassed.

_'Sherlock **Bloody** Holmes, Ladies and Gentlemen!'_

Being around Sherlock Holmes for years, John had his fair share of exciting experiences and misadventures. ' _Mostly misadventures_ '. He is no stranger to scavenging skips, much more hiding in them. Treading his way in knee-high mud is appetizer, walking inside a high security government facility all the while praying that the Holmes' brothers aren't in the middle of their  _nth world war_  in case their cover is blown, is breakfast. Running the back alleys of London while dodging flying bullets, arrows, knives, baseball bats, once even a  _pot_  –  _'Anything really, that could be thrown'-_ is lunch and crouching his way out of a rat-infested sewer is dinner. So really, swimming his way out of the cold waters isn't the worst of his fate.

But  _maybe,_  being pushed into an ice cold fountain while talking in the phone, trying to explain to a girlfriend that she was about to be stood up –' _again_ '-because he was trying to keep up with a loose overgrown child who unfortunately –' _for this instance at least…and many other times as well_ '- is also his best friend,  _is the worst of his fate_ **.**

All thanks to the world's only consulting detective.

' _More like world's only consulting **man-child**  detective._'

As John heaved himself out of the water and into dry land, his mind was cluttered with all possible  _Mary's_ that would greet him once he returns: red-eyed Mary, ice-cold Mary, screeching Mary,  _I'm-smiling-right-now-but-really-thinking-of-ways- to-torture-you_ Mary or, the worst of all, no Mary. Looking down at his wet, soggy and heavy clothes, John thought of how many fingers he should throw out to get back at Sherlock.

_'A whole jar won't suffice. Maybe I should take out two jars….is two and a half pushing it?'_

"Oh John, there you are! Come along now! We don't have time to waste!"

As the doctor found himself looking at a perfectly pristine  _perfectly dry_ Sherlock Holmes, he can't help but clamp his fists.

_'Well, say goodbye to the head then!'_

_"_ Move John! Now!"

_'And there goes the heart as well.'_

* * *

**_Earlier. 221B Baker St._ **

"How can you find this amusing John?"

"Sorry what?"

As Sherlock's feet dug its way to China with his endless pacing, John just sat silently in his chair with a schooled expression that was  _supposed_  to be screaming of understanding. Of course to Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective - _'also it's currently most clueless bloke'-_ it was screaming of amusement with a slight tinge of mockery.

"No use trying to hide it John." For a moment, Sherlock peeled his eyes away from the skull he was holding to throw the doctor a glare. "Can't you see this is a grievous matter? Yet you find it amusing! How could you?"

_'Because you're acting like a dolt.'_

"Because you're acting like this is a big deal!" John had given up fighting an internal battle and just allowed the bubbling humor in his voice to seep out. Sherlock on the other hand, was clearly not finding anything joyful with him, or with the current situation.

"This is a big deal John! Something is off with that man." Sherlock's attention has returned to the skull he was holding and a battle of staring ensued between a pair of manic eyeballs and hollowed sockets. "Why does Molly insist on doing this? There is always something off with Molly's choices. Why can't she see that?"

_'Why indeed? There is definitely something off about **you**!'_

"Maybe because this time, there isn't any." Seeing Sherlock's distress John has decided right there and then, that Doctor Molly Hooper will be receiving chocolate éclairs every afternoon for one whole week. For one, a woman who can cause such a reaction from a supposedly  _sentiment-drained thinking machine_  deserves a reward, and second, she'll definitely need the comfort.

Sherlock withdrew from the staring competition to throw John a glare before going back for round two.

' _Yup, she'll definitely need **all**  the comfort._'

"Look Sherlock, he's not a suspect or a client, or from the Yard, the media, your fan group and he's not  _even_  one of your brother's lackey." He on the other hand, is going to need a whole pack of Red Bull if he wants to survive this brewing character assassination c/o none other than Sherlock Holmes. "He's just a normal bloke who happens to be Molly's friend from the university."

_'Who is also showing a tad more interest than one would expect from a **friend**.'_

The doctor rose from his seat to stand in front of his flat mate. He grabbed the skull to break the staring competition that frankly, neither living man nor  _previously-living-man_ would win. "Sherlock, James Kirk is not a puzzle you have to figure out and stress on."

The taller man only scowled at him.

"I'm not stre-"

"No, of course you're not." With sarcasm barely concealed, John decided to humor him. ' _You're just suffering from unnecessary pacing syndrome and excessive whining disease…wait, that's just the normal you.'_

After haphazardly throwing the skull in the sofa, which earned him another withering glare -  _'It's a skull for god's sake! It's not as if it'll suffer a concussion!' –_ John went on to cross his arms in his chest, straighten his back and squared his shoulders to take on his soldier stance which always gained him attention. He definitely needs Sherlock's undivided attention with what he was going to say next.

"He is Molly's friend from her Uni days, which means they've known each other for what…six, seven years?"

"Nine."

 _'How in the worl-…fine, whatever.'_ It shouldn't surprise him anymore how Sherlock knows this, but nevertheless it still did and he is pretty sure that his face has taken the standard  _I'm-confused-but-that's-brilliant_  look that he has learned to sport during his time with Sherlock.

"Right, nine years. See,  _nine years_  which means she has known him longer than she has known you! And from what I've seen and heard, they are actually pretty close."

' _Too close in fact that it is bordering to are-you-sure-there's-nothing-going-on-because-it's -making-everyone-awkward kind of closeness._ '

His declaration however was only met with a bored look and John had to resist the urge to grab the detective and shake some sense into the man. "What I'm trying to say is, if there is anything off with this James Kirk, surely Molly would have known that by now."

_'Right?'_

After all, Molly is a grown woman who has a life outside of  _them_ , outside of Sherlock Holmes and for the first time, they are actually seeing something from her past. Hopefully, his flat mate would come to realize how important that is and learn to carefully tread around the situation, because even if he doesn't know that the world revolves around the sun, the detective should know better than to think that Molly Hooper's universe revolves around him.

"Well John, you'd be surprised as to how much a person does not know about their long time acquaintances." John felt like he was dismissed when Sherlock Holmes patted him in the shoulder and stepped away to throw himself in the sofa while picking the skull to resume round three of their competition.

"Acqua- he's not just an acquaintance Sherlock!" How can this man who can easily spot a secret affair because of hand creams, equate  _James Kirk_ with the word  _acquaintance?_ That does not even  _begin_  to cover Molly's interaction with the man. "Just to confirm, you and I were in the same room right? Because what I saw was far from the definition of acquaintance!" He'd like to see what kind of universe counts those smiles, split second looks that communicate thousands of words and inside jokes that he doubts even a man of Sherlock's intelligence could understand, as a meaning for the word _acquaintance._

_'I'd have many acquaintances if that were the case!'_

"It's not like there's a need for a knife to cut the sexual tension, it's more like I need an  _icing paddle_  to scoop out the excessive swee-" It was too late when John noticed the pair of slit eyelids focused on him. The cogs in Sherlock's brain has picked up its pace and is now shooting up thoughts John doesn't even want to know about. All he knows is that he needs to do something about it or else he might soon be facing a  _Sherlock-Molly Armageddon._

"What I mean is…" The doctor knows he needs to be careful with his words now because it is going to dictate whether or not he's going to get some sleep for the incoming days. "…that clearly, Molly and Mr. Kirk have a shared history that's deeper than even our –' _your_ '- own connection to her. So if I were you, I'd lay off with the character assassination you're planning with that skull of yours."

_'Skulls will never make good cohorts! There's a reason they are **skulls!** '_

Although, if he thinks of it,  _maybe_  helping someone fake their death to save their life trumps a nine-year friendship. After all, John knows the strength of a bond that is created over life and death situations. He shot a man for Sherlock and was strapped in Semtex because of Sherlock, while the man in turn had jumped on a rooftop and had made everyone believe that he was a fraud even if that is the last thing a man with the size of Sherlock's ego would have wanted. He had seen and experienced how bad situations could create the strongest bond. It may sound grotesque but  _maybe_ killing someone to save their life has higher merits than a strong and steady bond built for nearly a decade. In his case, he knows for sure that his friendship with Sherlock runs deeper than most friendships he had built early on.

That doesn't mean he didn't fantasize on sticking a picture of Sherlock in a punching bag just to relieve the stress that comes with knowing the man. In fact, he had come  _so close_  to doing just that, but thankfully a case necessitated for a staged brawl, and a punch or two had been thrown that  _may or may not_ have been _staged_.

Running parallel with his situation, John knows that Molly would do anything to help Sherlock and neither is she a stranger in dealing with Sherlock's erratic behavior, but with James Kirk, somehow the doctor can't tell for sure who outweighs who. In fact he fears for Sherlock if, or -' _god help us_ '- when, the man decides to tip the balance between him and Kirk in Molly's scale. The odds were never in Sherlock's favor and even though the man has a secure and large place in Molly's heart, friendship could outweigh love.

_'Choosing between an amiable and attentive guy like Kirk and a distant, harsh man like Sherlock, is like choosing between ice cold tea and boiling coffee. It shouldn't even be called **choosing**  in the first place.'_

As John watched the outstretched man in front of him, he only hoped that Sherlock's karma had gotten lost on its way to exacting justice for all the cruel things he had said to Molly. Rest assured that when this  _Kirk situation_ has blown over, the doctor himself would guide Sherlock's bad karma into the right track, but for now, John prays that Sherlock had amassed enough good karma to allow the said consulting detective to survive this encounter without ruining his relationship to the kind pathologist.

"But, there _is_  something  _peculiar_ about that  _Kirk,_ John." The statement was punctured with Sherlock raising the skull even higher in the air and dangling it above his head to continue with their staring competition. John thought they had entered round four and the display was a level of increased difficulty. "And I'm not planning a character assassination with my skull." The detective lifted the object further up.

' _He wasn't even listening. All those words and poof, he wasn't even listening. Why do I even bother?_ '

"Fine!" With exasperation John threw his hands in the air and went to stand at the foot of the sofa. "Fine, I'll bite. Tell me what made you think that there is something wrong with James Kirk." Sometimes it helps John to think that dealing with Sherlock prepares him for fatherhood.

"He's too normal."

Yes, Doctor John Watson is  _definitely_ going to be the greatest father in the whole world.

"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that."

' _And hopefully this time around my ears would hear something different._ '

Without tearing his gaze from the ongoing battle, Sherlock started to speak up. "You said it you're self John. He was normal. Too normal. Clean cropped haircut, cheap generic jumper and trousers, clean trainers, subtle scented aftershave and body wash and a simple leather watch. Little amount of hair product, clean shave, cut finger nails, pearly white teeth. Over all a nondescript character.  _Clearly_ something is wrong with that man!"

' _Or, something is definitely wrong with **you.** Which I think is established already._'

"Wait, so you're telling me that something is wrong with James Kirk because he'd rather shop at Debenhams than Spencer Hart or because he'd rather shave than grow a beard?" Sherlock has done it! He has reached a new high…or low, John's not really sure. All he knows was that it was by far the most ridiculous deduction he has ever heard from Sherlock Holmes. Forget figuring out that a woman boarded the 3:45 train from Devon and ate a piece of apple tart which she immediately threw away, all from a single shopping list or deducing that a man is a gold digger based on what he ordered for dessert.

Declaring that a man is suspicious because he is normal, trumps everything.

He knows that Sherlock sees the world differently than most people. A dried mark of shaving cream isn't just a mark nor a double stitch an ordinary stitch. But maybe declaring that a man is suspicious because there is  _nothing remotely suspicious_  about him, is pushing it.

"Sherlock did you even hear what you just said?" The doctor is used to hearing confusing things from his best friend. He is used to the detective spouting off inconspicuous indicators when asked how he had come to his conclusion.  _'It's the umbrella, of course it's the umbrella…the mouse John! Clearly the mouse is the key!...the detergent practically gave it all away!...His toast, look at his toast! Can't you see it? It's the toast!'_ The point is, no matter how ridiculous they may sound, they all made sense in the end.

Not this time around.

"It sounded like utter nonsense to me."

"Of course it would!"

The condescending manner by which the sentence was delivered didn't escape John. He is used to that attitude by now. Sherlock had been burdened with the ability to see much more than a normal human would and John could only imagine how frustrating it must be for Sherlock to live in a world where everyone insists it's a red when clearly it's a scarlet, so overtime, John has learned to ignore such jibes.

He also learned that switching Sherlock's socks produce better results than verbal retorts.

"You know what, I'm just going to go and make tea because clearly this isn't going anywhere."

_'And hopefully when I come back, you've seen sense which I think was sucked out of you by that skull during your staring competition.'_

He decided that it would be best for his sanity if he allow Sherlock and his ridiculousness to simmer over, and so he started towards the kitchen, but not before snatching the skull out of Sherlock's hand and noisily putting it down the coffee table, all the while pointedly staring at his flat mate who in turn glared at him but showed no effort of taking the object back. When he walked out, the last thing he saw was Sherlock sinking further in the sofa and pulling out his phone to text god-knows-who or search god-knows-what.

_'God or Mycroft, that is.'_

At the kitchen, he went through all the motion of preparing tea. As the doctor waited for the water to boil, his mind drifted back to the encounter that gave birth to this enigma…

* * *

**_Much earlier. St. Barts._ **

"You know, Molls had been sharing all these stories about the two of you."

"Did she now?"

The moment John heard the unmistakable baritone voice of his best friend, his mind had raced off to find all possible excuses he can make to get James Kirk out of the lab and away from Sherlock Holmes. The first thing he thought was calling Molly back so that she could fetch Kirk and leave before Sherlock creates any damage. However that would entail leaving the two men alone, which is definitely the last thing he wants. He decided that playing observer is the best way to go for now, so he sat back and watched as Sherlock dropped his extended hand –' _Was his arm raised all this time?_ '- and turned to fix his eyes to the man sitting opposite John. Kirk also turned his attention towards the detective and flashed the curly haired man, a friendly smile.

_'Yes Kirk, turn up the charm. It'll work like blood in a piranha pool.'_

"Yes, she told me that sometimes the two of you would come in and look at bodies that she's working on."

To John's relief, Sherlock showed no signs that he was about to spout off. "Yes, we do seek her assistance for some of our cases. She's a great help and she does a brilliant and thorough work. I know for a fact that she has high goals for her profession and I have no doubt that she'll reach it with her abilities." Sherlock then went on to match Kirk's smile with a brighter smile of his own.

He certainly looked charming, which is why his next statement didn't surprise John.

"That's why she can't afford to be  _distracted_ by anything or… _anyone._ "

John suddenly felt like the air was stuffed with cotton. He certainly didn't miss the implication of the selective emphasis. Just this once, John hoped that no matter how sharp he looks, Kirk would turn out to be a very  _very_ dense man. Fortunately, the smile in Kirk's face didn't drop, it actually turned up a notch. Now the two men were flashing blinding smiles at each other.

_'I didn't know were doing toothpaste commercial today.'_

"Yes, Molly does excel in her field and I also have no doubt that she will reach places. Her intelligence and work ethics will ensure that." Kirk's face remained very open and very friendly. Everything seemed safe to John.

" _Although,_ I didn't know that fetching lab cultures for  _others_  is part of her job description."

Kirk's voice was light and cheery, his smile was very charming and the crinkles that were supposed to indicate genuine smiles were present beside his eyes. Overall, his face was the epitome of charisma. It disturbed John, because for the first time, he was looking at Sherlock Holmes who is  _not Sherlock Holmes._ The forced nonthreatening aura reeking from Kirk was something John was used to seeing from his flat mate. During the instances when he saw Sherlock exude such feeling, he knows it was the  _pre-game._ That short calm moment that lulls everyone to a false sense of security, not knowing that at any moment they will be pounced on.

_'Not bad. Not bad at all Molly.'_

This Kirk has bite and John is liking him more and more with each passing second, which is why the doctor is going to save him.

"Yes, Molly's kind enough to always assist us." His voice cut through the electrifying tension and the two men broke their smiling competition to look at the doctor. John turned his attention towards Kirk who, to his relief, looked more genuine. On the other hand, his body was sending out warning signals that from  _somewhere_ inside the room, he was being  _glared at._

Possibly being internally chastised as well.

Since apparently it was  _charm-your-way-in-and-out-of-trouble_ day today, he didn't hesitate to flash his boyish smile to Kirk. "I think Molly's taking too long, should we check on her Mr. Kirk? She might need assistance with the cultures."

_'And you need my assistance to get out of here so let's go.'_

He went through the motion of getting up his chair but didn't go any further because he was interrupted by a low voice.

"Molly's only been gone for 5 minutes John and unless the hospital had decided to switch to lead petri dishes, I highly doubt she would need assistance in carrying a tray."

_'Well I highly doubt she'd **keep**  carrying a tray for you, if you don't stop this instance!'_

"Yes, I as well think that Molly doesn't need any assistance. She's a very independent woman and you're right, she's very helpful too." Kirk addressed him as well but then, turned his attention to Sherlock and just like that, the tension went pouring back in. "But I think playing lab assistant is… _distracting_ her from her real job _._ " Kirk again smiled. Sherlock didn't.

_'That's it. It was nice meeting you Kirk. Our time was short but know that you have made a great impact.'_

It amazed John how nonchalant James Kirk was in the midst of everything. It was like watching a puppy growl at a dog. Said dog being moments away from saying things that Kirk would most likely not want to be blurted out. For John it was like watching a slow mo of glass falling to the floor, the expectation that everything's about to crash spectacularly courses through his veins. Sherlock's eyes had rounded up and his mouth began to part, no doubt about to start spilling out things that are better left unsaid.

Thankfully, Molly walked right back in.

"Oh Sherlock, sorry." Molly entered the lab and went on to stand in front of Sherlock's work station. "I met Doctor Ingrid on my way and she said that they had an accident last week that involved mishandling and contamination and now all of their cultures were disposed." She was clearly unaware of the tension that had previously occupied the room.

"I hope you're experiments are not that important. Their new samples won't be arriving until next week."

Previous debacle seemingly forgotten, Sherlock focused his attention to Molly. "My experiments are important Molly. I'm doing it for a case. A man was said to have died of food poisoning and I need to see how it happened."

_'Oh, you mean that case which we **solved**   **two days ago?** '_

John had to resist the urge to reveal the truth and thought better of it. No matter how much he wants to pull Sherlock's leg he needs sleep tonight and he won't be able to do that if Sherlock is pissed enough at him that he'd scrape out screeching noises in his violin, all night long. However, he knows this is going to be a good teasing material, probably would come handy if Sherlock decides to make allusions of his nightly escapades with Mary, in front of other people.

_'At least I don't use dead people or bacteria as an excuse to loiter around a woman.'_

"Oh, well if you want I can try ringing other labs to see if they have them." Molly smiled at Sherlock and John couldn't stop himself from looking at Kirk to gauge the man's reaction. Astonishingly, the man doesn't seem affected at all.

"Thank you Molly, you've  _always_ been a great help to  _me._ " Sherlock was smiling at Molly and there was undeniable softness in his voice. It garnered the usual reaction from the pathologist and John watched as the woman turned into what could possibly be a new shade of red. He had seen this happen a lot of times already, mostly when they are in a case but somehow he doesn't get the tingling need in his hand to smack Sherlock.

_'This day is a goldmine. Oh the things that happen when someone's threatened.'_

Sherlock Holmes was genuinely thankful. Also, undeniably cunning, because the detective has a very good peripheral vision and  _someone_ inside the room seems totally  _unconcerned_.

"If they are really that important wouldn't it be better if Mr. Holmes finds the samples himself?"

_'And he awakens!'_

Kirk joined the conversation with the same chilling coolness of a person withdrawn but definitely involved. His amicable personality was in place and John was instantly reminded of a chameleon. If the doctor wasn't there during the earlier exchange, he might have thought that Kirk is truly concerned and not waving a sword behind his back.

"After all, it's his experiment. He'll know what's best for it."

Without batting an eyelid, Kirk's eyes moved from Molly to Sherlock in a subtle gesture that marks the continuation of their sparring. His flat mate, a man who wasn't one to back down, immediately engaged and soon, the laboratory was a silent battlefield of will and charm. He could see Kirk hurtling  _friend-for-life_ grenades as Sherlock drop  _man-she-fancies_ bombs. John would have interjected but he was honestly having fun with the whole situation. It seems like Sherlock had finally found his match, although, that may be a very early declaration, for Sherlock has yet to use his  _special assassination skill_. However, the intense sparring to which James Kirk has managed to employ Sherlock into, is enough for John to know that Kirk shouldn't be taken lightly.

The mood that the silent battle of staring oozed had enveloped the two men in a protective bubble that made them untouchable. Poor Molly Hooper was caught in the midst of something she can't quite understand and her eyes bounced between the two silent men. John felt bad for the confused pathologist but he was sure that if she knows what was really happening, St. Bart's morgue would be run by a cherry tomato.

As the silence dragged on, John waited with bated breathe to see who concedes first. The daredevil side of him, the one that's very loyal to Sherlock was waiting for the detective to gear up his observations. He'd be a hypocrite if he says he wasn't curious with what Sherlock sees in Kirk. Even if he doesn't have Sherlock's skills, John could see that Kirk is an interesting human, definitely a rise above the other men he had seen with Molly during Fridays. To his surprise however, Sherlock remained quite until the detective broke the staring competition to look at Molly.

"I think that was a very sound suggestion from Mr. Kirk." Without cleaning up, Sherlock stood up and began winding his scarf around his neck and putting on his coat. "I think I am going to take that advice."

_'What?'_

Amidst his confusion, the doctor heard the detective say goodbye to Molly before turning to James Kirk.

"It was nice meeting you Mr. James Kirk. See you around."

' _Translation: This round is definitely not finished._ '

In his usual dramatic fashion, Sherlock Holmes flourished out of the lab without waiting for his blogger. On the other hand, John who was too caught up with the surprising turn of events tat he only managed a nod towards the pathologist and her friend before going out of the lab and after his friend. When he did caught up with Sherlock Holmes, no words were exchanged between them until they reached their flat. The detective doesn't seem to be up for talking and neither was he. His mind was reeling with one question.

_'Why didn't Sherlock say anything?'_

* * *

**_Back to 221B. Baker Street._ **

_'So that's the reason why he was silent!'_

As the doctor lifted the kettle from the stove, he had come to a stunning realization.

_'Sherlock Holmes didn't say anything because he **doesn't have anything,** in the first place.'_

While pouring the hot water in his teacup, John's mind finally made the connection between his wallowing flat mate and his sour mood. With every stir, John's mind began to wrap itself on a single idea that he never thought he'll encounter with his flat mate.

_'Sherlock Holmes can't find fault with James Kirk.'_

It was like The Woman again.

After The Woman's case, Sherlock came clean to him with the confession that during their first meeting, Irene Adler came across as unreadable to Sherlock. It was their interaction that began to unravel Adler and it was her ego that had become her undoing. James Kirk was the repeat of that. John vaguely thought if he should start referring to James Kirk as  _The Man,_ however that didn't sit well with him. Surely he can't use that if he plans to write a blog about this, it will be like splashing fuel to a fire.

He was already on his tenth stir when he heard a loud clutter from their sitting room. When he stepped out of the kitchen, he was just in time to see his flat mate rush to his bedroom and slamming it with careless strength. However, before he could question his flat mate, the source of the clutter rolled to his feet and John bent down to pick up the skull which has now a chip in its jaw.

_'Great, he's allowed to knock you off the **hard floor**  while I get glared at for throwing you in a  **cushioned sofa.** '_

"Sherlock, what's happening?"

Behind the detective's door, John could hear rustling of clothes and in no time, the detective appeared again wearing his usual ensemble minus his scarf and his coat.

"Progress." Without much ado, Sherlock passed him. "That's what's happening John!"

"What?" The doctor was still confused but he didn't receive anymore answer because Sherlock swept off their door in the midst of putting on his coat.

Instead of taking offense for not being answered, -' _I'd be the most offended man in the world, if I do so every time_ '- John just grabbed his coat to follow his best friend who always seemed to forget that there is a correlation between height and length of pace. However he had to turn back and toss the skull to the sofa, when he realized halfway out the door that he was still holding it.

_'Sorry skull, I'm already with someone suspicious enough to get unwanted public attention.'_

Without much thought, he bounded down their staircase and out to the London streets to follow his flat mate.

* * *

**_Present_ **

"Could you  _please,_ in detail tell me what we're doing?"

"Obviously, were walking John."

He didn't restrain himself from glaring at the tall man beside him. He was wet, cold, dripping and fast becoming a public attraction. His patience was running out and  _he deserves an answer._ Thankfully, Sherlock sensed the daggers that were directed to him and he puffed himself before answering.

"We are figuring out James Kirk."

"We are?" The surprise in his voice wasn't because of the mention of the other man's name, it was brought more of the " _figuring out_ " part, because to John it only seemed like they were walking aimlessly around.

"Yes John!" Sherlock's pace increased and John had to endeavor to keep up with him due to the added weight of his soaked clothes. "In fact that is what we have been doing for fifteen minutes now. But I think that fact escaped you because you were  _very occupied._ "

He ignored the jibe. With his patience running thin, he thought it would be better if he rationed it.

"How are we doing that exactly? Because to me we are just walking around."

Sherlock threw him a look that clearly says  _please-tell-me-you're-kidding. "_ We're following him. _"_

"We are?" Apparently, surprise has limited the doctor's vocabulary into two words. He began moving his eyes around the massive crowd until they landed on a familiar bobbing black jumper moving a few meters in front of them.

"Leave, John."

"What?" He tore his eyes away from James Kirk to look at his friend.

"I said leave." Sherlock didn't even look at him but instead continued to increase his pace. "You're dripping wet. You're gaining too much attention and that's the last thing I want."

_'Well you should have thought of that before pushing me! Why was I even pushed on the first place?'_

But before he could voice out his question, he had noticed the distance that Sherlock has gained and had decided to stop altogether. He was already tired and too pissed off to try and be stubborn with the detective. He also doesn't want to get sick because he still has a date to make up with Mary tomorrow.

He groaned upon the idea. Hopefully, he'd be coherent enough to placate Mary.

_'To hell with it, I'm cleaning out the whole fridge!'_


	3. The Other Meeting

John had always figured out that the Holmes is a rich bunch. Sue him for stereotyping, but Sherlock's aloofness and standoffish manner was screaming  _silver-spooned-baby_  right from the very first moment that they met.

Thinking of it now, the word  _baby_ should have warned him.

Nevertheless, his suspicion was further notched when he first walked into their future flat which was apparently already occupied by Sherlock long before he arrived, meaning that the man had been living in Baker Street on his own for a while and can obviously afford to maintain it. He remembered wondering why someone who could clearly survive the financial pitfalls of living in the nicer part of the city, need a flatmate. Then again, who was he to pass such an opportunity? So, the thought was banished to the corners of the doctor's mind, but not before acknowledging that his flatmate must be loaded.

However, the real clincher was Mycroft Holmes.

John may have made the mistake of calling out Mycroft Holmes as the least frightening person in the room, a mistake which the older Holmes had surely been banking and cashing in for the most of his life, but there is one thing John was sure of – the man with the umbrella was tattooed with the word  _posh_ all over. By extension, Sherlock's tattooed too, it's just hidden underneath all that roughness and rudeness.

He still isn't sure of the exact financial capacity of his flatmate's family, but if Sherlock's general disregard for money is anything to go by, he wouldn't be surprised if there is a castle somewhere bearing a portrait captioned:  _Sherlock Holmes XIII, Duke of Snobs._

If there isn't any, one day he'll make sure there is - at least the portrait part.

That is why John Watson had no qualms with the purchase he had just made. Yes, the credit card might be under Mycroft's name but in John Watson's book, the older man deserves as much as his younger brother. After all, he is probably the reason why Sherlock made  _"progress"_ today. Who else could easily pinpoint a civilian's exact location within the streets of London? Hence Mycroft Holmes had a connection to the events leading to John being soaked to the bones with a ruined phone in hand - a ruined phone that was about to be replaced with the most recent version of a popular smart phone with a fairly popular price tag.

That and a new pair of jumpers, trousers and shoes is John Watson's idea of revenge.

_'All boys' school thought me better than this.'_

The doctor shook his head and released a sigh as he inspected his new phone. He doubts that he had even made a dent to the Holmes' treasury. However, he'll just take them as they come. He has plenty of time to think of a more suitable way of getting back at his bestfriend later, but for now he needs to do some damage control. As he made himself comfortable inside the cab that was taking him to Mary's house, he fiddled with his new phone to try and call his girlfriend.

After the third attempt that landed on voice mail like the rest, he resolved to text her.

**Mary I'm on my way there. I am so sorry if I was cut off. Sherlock pushed me into a fountain.**

When the tenth minute passed without a reply, he knew he was in deeper trouble than he thought. He figured he'd need to stop somewhere to buy her flowers and a box of donut that she likes. However, when she replied, he knew those wouldn't do anything.

**It's fine.**

In other words:  _Go to hell John Watson._

Totally ignoring the alarmed stare of his cabbie, John let out a strangled noise as he brought his palms over his scrunched face. He had been doing his best in trying to avoid mucking up his relationship with Mary and for a year and a half he was successful. That is, until the ugly face of jealousy decided to butt in. The funny thing was that, said ugly face wasn't even barging in  _on his_   _own_ relationship but on the  _non-existent_ relationship between Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper.

He had decided that if Mary doesn't let him inside her house, not only will the fridge be cleaned out but the socks and scarves will be rearranged, the skull will be hidden and the microscope will be disassembled and all the objectives will be scattered around St. Bart's morgue and laboratory.  _Maybe_  during his search Sherlock would get locked in on one of the morgue's freezer. If John gets any luckier, a certain pathologist would be with him. The need to retain body heat could do  _wonders_  between two people. He should know, it's an old trick in his internship days.

He was still in the middle of alternating between panicking over his situation with his girlfriend and griping against his flatmate when another text came through.

**Also currently not at home. I'm out having drinks with Molly**

He doesn't know whether he should be relieved or further plunge into panic upon learning that Mary is out with Molly. The two women meet to catch up with each other's lives, but they prefer doing it over coffee or lunch, which means " _out having drinks"_  is entirely another matter. On rare occasions it is to celebrate some exciting news but mostly, going out to consume alcohol is a ritual that is performed when they need to talk about serious matters.

 _Serious matters_  also known as  _Sherlock Holmes and/or John Watson._

**Mary, I am so sorry about everything. I swear I'll make it up to you.**

The doctor knows that Mary initiating the meeting could only mean that she is really upset with him, so he is very much prepared to do anything to please her. Anything.

**I told you it's fine.**

Including groveling.

**Tell me anything you want to do and we'll do it. Sherlock be damned I'll fulfill whatever you wish to do.**

Yes, Sherlock be damned indeed. There he was trying to maintain his relationship with  _his girlfriend_ while the man is somewhere in the heart of London trying to…do whatever it is… he is doing for a woman who is  _not even_   _his girlfriend._

_'At least try to kiss the woman before you get possessive.'_

John Watson may not be the world's only consulting detective but he knows what is exactly happening with Sherlock.  _Everyone_  who'll ever see him will immediately know what's happening with the detective. James Kirk probably knows it as well, and if the doctor knows Mycroft Holmes, which he does…unfortunately, even The British Government knows what is happening with Sherlock. The only person who doesn't know is the man himself.

**I said it's fine John!**

And Molly as well, but that's because she has yet to see how affected Sherlock is with the appearance of Kirk in their lives.

**At least tell me where you are. I want to talk to you. Please let me explain.**

Thinking of it now, he hopes Molly remained clueless with regards to the earlier exchange. She is currently in the perfect position to put a good word for him and she might not do that if she knew how much of a git Sherlock was earlier. For numerous reasons, which still don't seem reasonable  _at all_ , Sherlock's rudeness now translates to being  _his fault_ as well. People had started treating him as Sherlock's  _walking conscience_  and every slap seems to be born in pairs now, where the detective gets the palm and he gets the backhand. Although Molly will most likely be averse in putting blame on him for Sherlock's action –' _because since when did becoming flatmate/blogger/bestfriend equal to a soul whisperer?'_ \- he really doesn't want Molly to be angry with him.

One, they are close friends.

Two, he needs a wing man for Mary and it was quickly established that Sherlock is _not a wing man material._

Far from it.

Very far from it.

To his surprise, instead of a reply John found himself receiving a call from Mary.

_'This is a good sign, right?'_

It is a good sign.

Probably. Hopefully.

"Hello, Ma-"

"Listen John, I only have five minutes so I'll be quick. First of all, I know I'm supposed to be angry with you for cancelling  _again_  but then you're just being  _you_  and Sherlock's being Sherlock and I know things like these will happen and that you are just trying to keep him out of trouble and honestly that is  _one_  of the things that I love about you. Also, I should come clean about this – I  _don't really like_  that restaurant you booked so no need to sweat about it. However there is this newly opened Indian restaurant down my block, so can we just do that instead? Second, did Sherlock really push you to a fountain? Is there any chance I can get a picture of that? Third, I'm out with Molly and I am going to try my best to dig out for more information but I don't really want to be obvious so I am going to try and use the charms of alcohol to make her talk more. Lastly, when I say 'it's fine', it means  _it's fine!_ But  _you_  questioning it  _again and_   _again_  is making it  _less fine_  so please stop and don't  _ever do that again."_

_'_ _**God** _ _I love this woman.'_

"So, it's fine?"

"John!"

"Sorry it's just…" He wondered if she even took a breath in the midst of all that. As far as the doctor's concerned, Mary is the only other person he knows who could outmatch Sherlock in a talk marathon. "…a lot to take in. I mean, I'm glad that you are fine with this. More than glad really, but it was just so rushed that I don't know what to focus in."

"I told you, I only have five minutes!"

She doesn't even seem breathless after such a long tirade. However, no matter how winded the speech was, it effectively lifted the weight off his chest. Now the burden rested on his head. "Why do you have only five minutes and where is Molly?"

"I'm currently in the loo because I can't exactly let Molly hear this, can I?"

"Yes I suppose you can't…wait, what do you mean about taking more information from her?"

He heard her release an unmistakable huff of annoyance before answering. "What else but information about James Kirk!"

He cringed upon hearing the name.  _'Since when did Mary take my job?'_

"You're investigating James Kirk too?"

 _'Great!'_ Now it's not just his bestfriend who is moving around London stalking Kirk, his girlfriend is also doing her own sniffing about the man.

"Well, with the way you described him and Sherlock's reaction, I figured I could try to find out more about him. I mean, if he could provoke that kind of reaction from Sherlock then there must be something about this James Kirk."

She sounded too eager for his ears. For a split second he almost asked her if being a primary school teacher is  _so boring_ that now she decides to play detective.

"Ma-"

"John! I have to go but listen first. This is the event that could  _potentially_  change the dynamics between Molly and Sherlock and as a close friend of both, I just want to steer them to the right direction…"

_'You mean towards each other.'_

It is no secret to him that Mary really wants to play cupid between those two. She had been trying to do that ever since Sherlock came back and the tide was calm enough for them to focus on simpler things. When he asked her why she is such a staunch believer on the Hooper-Holmes relationship, she merely shrugged and said "they click."

"…and I just want to make sure nothing is wrong about this James Kirk."

_'Because he will get in the way of you playing match maker.'_

Mary Morstan, in his opinion is the  _biggest_  supporter of the idea of Molly and Sherlock together. He is pretty sure that his girlfriend and Mrs. Hudson are on the brink of forming a club whose sole purpose is to devise ways to bring the detective and the pathologist together. He had witnessed firsthand how Mary turned into the female version of Sherlock when it came to Molly's date. However, unlike the outright way of his bestfriend, Mary had a different way of approaching the situation and it amazed him how he never realized what she was doing until he was staring at the retreating back of Molly's date. She had sweet-talked her way into breaking off the date and had somehow found a way to send the failed suitor away without making her, the man or Molly look bad.

_'The wiles of a woman.'_

"I also know that Sherlock is going to be harder to deal with, I mean a day hadn't even passed yet but you already got soaked in a fountain because of this."

 _'And you enjoyed that didn't you.'_ He doesn't have to be in front of her to know that the corners of her lips are slightly pulled up. In fact, him ending up soaked might have made things easier when it came to soothing Mary's nerves.

"I just really want to help John, so please let me do this."

_'And of course I will…because you need to have fun and I love you.'_

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh before answering her. "Okay, fine. Just don't be too obvious and please share to me what you learn."

Mary let out a squeal that caused John to smirk. He loves the woman so much, that making her happy makes him happy. Even if he knows that this could potentially turn into a disaster.

"I will! I swear I will. I have to go now. I love you!"

"I love you too. Bye."

A click ended the call and a slap ended in his forehead. With his palm still clutching his head, John further slumped into the car seat.

"Hey mister, please turn around and go to Baker Street instead."

* * *

**_221B Baker Street_ **

John's steps where lighter as he bounded out of the cab and into the stairs that led to their flat. Now that he was relieved of any fear for his relationship, his body got rid of any tension and his muscles were now poised to relax. However, instead of making his way to his designated chair to slouch off, he immediately went to the kitchen. His relationship maybe safe but his clothes  _definitely weren't._ He warily eyed the bag that contained his soggy clothes as he placed it in the least cluttered space he could find in their counter. He needed it close as a reminder that his planned retaliation is justified.

 _No one_  pushes John Watson for no apparent reason into cold water and gets away with it.  _Not even Sherlock Holmes._

He is pretty sure that what he plans to do will start a vendetta that would involve missing things, excruciating late-night screeches and a rally of pranks that would probably end doing more damage to their flat, but he is ready for that. Years of military service and barracks life could do benefits for ones inner childishness. The genius of it lies in the fact that they can't afford to be caught by their higher-ups.

_'Sherlock may be the trickster, but guess who the prankster is.'_

He began by opening the fridge and taking out individual bottles that, if combined, would most likely constitute a third of the human body. He hesitated when it came to the heart and the head because they really seem to be important, but after a few minutes of deliberation and a few glances at his bag of wet clothes, he decided to spare the head and resolved to only push it further inside the fridge for the benefit of Mrs. Hudson. The heart, however, will be shown no mercy.

"Ah, cleaning day is it?"

He almost dropped the jar of heart when he was startled by the cheery voice of the older Holmes. With a racing heart and tight grip on the jar, he turned to glare at the suited man.

"Mycroft!"

Before he could even voice his protest at the man's sudden appearance, The British Government swung his umbrella to the direction of their widely opened door.

"I knocked, but you seemed to be too absorbed with your task to notice." Mycroft smiled at him from the doorway of their kitchen before proceeding to eye the jars that were about to be discarded. "Tell me John, do you think that is a wise thing to do?"

John stared at the older man who seems to have the uncanny ability to pop out of nowhere. He is from the military and had always prided himself of his stealth, and that didn't change even when he met Sherlock Holmes. But through the years, he had come to realize that there is one other man who could potentially beat him in sneaking. Mycroft could be wherever he wants to be without other people knowing. He could even be in a place without physically being there – _'the perks of holding a **minor position**  in the government'_\- but thankfully, most of the times Mycroft wants his presence to be known. This brings him back to the question of why Mycroft Holmes is in their flat.

"I take it that you've seen what happened earlier." The doctor slowly lowered the jar into the table along with the other organs before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Ah yes." Mycroft eyed his defensive stance. "The fountain incident that a CCTV camera registered at around 4:35 this afternoon." Nothing ever escapes Mycroft.

"Then you know my answer to your question."

Mycroft's smile had then turned into a full grin. "Yes, I suppose. That is the reason why I brought you this." He went on to hand John the other item that he was carrying.

"A pack of…biohazard plastic bags." Mycroft  _"Mr. Efficiency"_  Holmes strikes again. John has long stopped questioning how Mycroft knows things. He just does. The doctor just accepted the fact that Mycroft's near omniscience is one of life's small mysteries that he'll never figure out...or never  _want_ to figure out. He just leaves it to Mycroft possessing skills like Sherlock and having  _a minor position_. Other possibilities are just disturbing. "Thank you. It's exactly what I need."

He placed the pack of yellow bags near the preserved organs before turning back to the other man. "You didn't come here just to give me this." Another thing he is sure of about Mycroft Holmes is that his world is run in barter system.

Mycroft gives, Mycroft takes. The question of whether it's fair trade could be hung in the air.

The suited man tilted his head before smiling again. "Astute as ever Doctor Watson."

_'No, not astute, just used to dealing with you...and your brother.'_

"Shall we move to the sitting room then?" John would rather deal with Mycroft Holmes in a clean room and away from Sherlock's experiments. Somehow, he has an inkling that whatever business Mycroft wants to talk about, it would probably make him want to throw out more of the detective's experiments. The Petri dishes and remaining organs would be safer away from him if he doesn't see them right after talking to the older brother.

"Oh no need, this is just going to be brief..." Mycroft waved his umbrella around. "…and between the two of us." He then fixed a meaningful stare at the doctor.

_'Ah, seems like someone doesn't want to leave a trace of his visit.'_

Also, that John Watson is going to be trapped between another Holmes crossfire.

Again.

_'Story of my life: crossfires of bullets and brotherly love'_

"Okay, what is it?"

Mycroft brought his umbrella in front of him and placed both of his hands on the handle before speaking. "I need you to take Sherlock off of Mr. James Kirk's trail."

_'Is there some sort of memo that declares this day as James Kirk day? Because I definitely missed that.'_

"But he is already in Kirk's trail. He is stalking him right now!" He highly doubts Mycroft doesn't know about his brother's current activity. "And aren't you the one who set him on Kirk's trail?"

"Oh I do know that Sherlock's stalking the man right now, but I don't have anything to do with that." Mycroft waved his hand through the air. "Sherlock found Kirk's trail on his own. His homeless network could prove just as efficient as CCTVs and tracking devices."

_'Is that bitterness or envy that I hear?'_

"Okay, but why would you want me to take Sherlock off of Kirk? Is there something about this James Kirk that I have to know?" Sherlock being involved is one thing –' _He always gets himself tangled in things he shouldn't be involved with_ '-, but Mycroft dipping his finger in the issue is entirely different. For all he knows, the last time Mycroft intervened with something, a president might have been impeached. John is now starting to believe that Sherlock is right and something is _different_ about James Kirk.

' _Different, not wrong._ '

"Oh, no need to worry John." Mycroft dismissed him with a wave of his umbrella before he dipped on his suit to take out a small notebook.  _Déjà vu._ "James Kirk, born August 24, 1980 to Mr. and Mrs. Christian Kirk. Brambleyte, Harrows and King's College. Graduated second to the top, beaten only by Doctor Molly Hooper. Currently works as a forensic pathologist overseas. Recently returned for a month of vacation when he decided to visit his bestfriend…" Mycroft closed the book and looked at him. "…and unknowingly walked into the line of sight of Sherlock Holmes."

_'Line of sight? More like line of fire!'_

John is fairly certain that Mycroft had already mapped out the entire life of James Kirk and would immediately know if he is a threat. But with the facts that he had been given, it further solidified that Kirk is just an average man, and that makes the whole situation  _more_  unsettling for the doctor. "There is still one question you haven't answered. Why do you want me to take Sherlock off of Kirk?"

"It's a distraction he doesn't need."

John didn't buy that for one single second.

If anything, a distraction is what Sherlock needs and Mycroft knows that. They are in between cases which means the detective gets easily bored and a bored Sherlock is a problematic Sherlock, and no matter how much both brothers deny it, Mycroft had been providing distractions for Sherlock to keep him from plunging into the pitfalls of mundane existence. As it goes, Kirk is proving to be a wonderful puzzle for the detective, seeing as the man is now off somewhere and not sulking in the corner or shooting walls. They both know that Kirk is the perfect fascination for Sherlock; so again, John didn't buy that excuse. For One. Single. Second.

He remained silent and allowed a few seconds to pass between them. He was trying to figure out what is going on with Mycroft Holmes, but as usual it's like waiting for a rock to show emotions. Eventually, he gave up. "You know you can easily do that by providing Sherlock with James Kirk's life story."

The British Government gave a hollow laugh. "You know he never accepts anything from me."

_'He does steal from you though.'_

"Well then let me read about James Kirk and I'll tell him."

"That won't work either. He'll know it's from me. Besides, you know Sherlock he'll want to figure things out by himself."

"Then what do you suggest I do?"

"Just steer him off of James Kirk's path for a whole month. I believe that will be for the benefit of everyone…" He moved to pocket the small notebook. "…including Doctor Hooper. It would be a rather tedious task to find another pathologist if  _anything_ were to happen."

_'No Mycroft, **'tedious'**  wouldn't even cover it.'_

John narrowed his eyes towards the other man. Everything about Mycroft's reasoning is spotless, but somehow, it still unsettles him. "There is something you are not telling me Mycroft."

He watched as Mycroft's face lit with a practiced smile. "I always tell you everything you need to know John."

"No, you tell me everything you  _think_ I need to know."

_'You and Sherlock. Both of you do that. Must be a Holmes trait.'_

"There is nothing else I could to tell you John." Mycroft straightened and slung his umbrella in his arm. "But believe me when I say that this is for the benefit of everyone."

Oh he has no doubt that it would benefit everyone. The question is who would benefit  _more?_

John only nodded and watched as Mycroft made his way towards the flat's door. However, before he stepped out, he turned around and addressed John again.

"By the way, nice outfit doctor!"

John Watson groaned.


	4. The Aftermath

Living with Sherlock Holmes, who is among other things a fiddler, John Watson has come to appreciate classical music. However, he is not a fan of some randomly drawled out notes that are successively played without care, and purely under the intention of _irritating_  ones flatmate. He is  _especially_  not a fan of that practice at  _2:15 in the morning_. Flipping violently to his side, which didn't do any good for the springs of his mattress, he reached for his bedside table and carelessly pulled open the middle drawer. Without bothering to open the lights, he blindly felt his way through the various things stored inside. It didn't come as any surprise when he felt the empty rectangular area which he was fairly certain, once held a box of earplugs.

_'What else did I expect?'_

Still not giving up, the doctor then bent his arms under his bed and ran his fingers along the frame just beneath his hips. When his hand emerged with a lone film of tape stuck in his ring finger but with no earplugs, he tightly shut his eyes before shaking his hand to get rid of the sticky object. With the last vestige of his patience, he threw his covers and proceeded to get up on his knees to reach for the painting just above his head. Gingerly, he slid his fingers behind the frame and with a few strokes, conducted a thorough search.

Still, no earplugs.

_'Hell hath no fury like a Sherlock scorned'_

He could toughen it out if he wants to, but he knows that ignoring this would only serve as a go signal for his flatmate to do more drastic actions _._ With a huff, he rose from his bed and proceeded to go downstairs. When the sitting room came into view, he was treated with the sight of his curly-haired flatmate, dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown and looking every inch like a statue except for the swift movement of his right arm sawing off his violin with a rosined bow. The doctor always thought Strads weren't capable of producing such infernal sounds.

_'Apparently, they could, especially if they're owned by Sherlock Holmes.'_

With quick steps he approached his flatmate with every intention of grabbing the instrument and ending the musical torture. However, his approach was hindered by a bow tipped in his chest.

"Return my skull."

"Return my ring."

Eyelids snapped to reveal two blue orbs that completed the ensemble of a vicious glare sent his way. He glared back. He had been right to think that a vendetta would ensue after he got rid of some of the organs. It was now Sunday morning and their  _little exchange_ has escalated to the point where Sherlock's skull and John's engagement ring are locked in a fierce battle of  _hide and seek._

After Mycroft's suspicious visit, the doctor got busy disposing a lot of body parts and some hopeless looking specimens. His Friday night was then spent sorting, rearranging, securing and hiding his valuables. Sherlock's stalking adventure gave John a few hours to prepare for the incoming storm brought by the discovery of missing body parts. He finished his preparations by 10 o'clock in the evening, but Sherlock was yet to return. As any good mate would do, he fired off a text asking the detective his location, but John himself did not expect for any reply. No matter how glued his phone is to his hand, the detective is notorious for ignoring texts that does not involve his current fascination. Therefore, instead of sending another message, John spent his time between doing mundane tasks such checking his blog, anticipating Mary's discovery and puzzling over Mycroft's visit while waiting for the detective's return. When midnight came with no Sherlock, he went to bed hoping that he'd wake up to a room with no missing belongings and a habitable flat.

To his surprise, he did.

His still glazed eyes narrowed as he gazed at every corner of his room looking for any signs of intrusion. When he saw nothing suspicious, he immediately rose and checked his things and was amazed to find nothing missing. Only then did it dawn to him that the flat was eerily quiet which means he didn't actually  _survived anything_ , it was yet to begin. When he went down for breakfast, there were no signs of Sherlock or his return. Worried for his friend, he decided to call but he was immediately distracted by a text from Mary saying that she is suffering from a massive hangover but has  _'juicy'_  details for him. Figuring out that since Mycroft was yet to announce a Marshal Law for the benefit of his missing brother, he decided to attend to the needs of his girlfriend first, and only sent a hurried text to his flatmate.

**You're still alive, right?**

He was already in the cab when he received a reply.

**Yes. – SH**

The visit to Mary's house proved to be quite an experience that for the rest of his Saturday morning, he managed to forget his worries about Sherlock and his overreaction when it comes to his specimens.

However, in the middle of lunch, his phone buzzed signifying an incoming message.

**Replace them. – SH**

_'Not in this life.'_ **No.**

**They were important John! – SH.**

**Then why weren't you using them?**

_'They were just sitting there taking up space that was supposed to be for_ _**food** _ _storage'_

**I was, and now you've ruined my experiments. – SH**

_'On what, organ pickling techniques?'_ **You'll manage.**

**Replace them immediately! – SH**

**No.**

**You'll regret this John. – SH**

_'Been there, done that.'_

**Fairly certain I won't. Tell me, what happened to you following James Kirk?**

With the last piece of his chicken forgotten and Mary looking over his shoulders, the text was typed with a smirk on his face. Mary proved herself to be quite a skilled sleuth and in a rare event, John was privy to information that's teasing material.

The reply didn't come instantly and it only served to widen the grin on his face.

**Are you going to replace the organs or not?– SH**

_'Could have fooled me with that one.'_

**You were gone the whole night. Surely there must be something.**

**"** You are such a tease. **"** Mary poked him in the arm but there was a spark in her eyes that says she's enjoying this as much as he was. Teasing Sherlock is one of the rare luxuries that they can afford. He's surely going to enjoy this as much as he can.

**Have you asked Mary already? – SH**

Maybe not.

"What did he mean by that?" Mary looked at him in confusion and John was sure that his fun was finished.

"Oh he was just…wondering if I've already asked you to…"

_'…marry me…'_

"…a date." Really? That's the best that he can say?

Mary's eyebrows moved closer to each other in a sign of further confusion, and she looked like she was about to say something but was cutoff when his phone signaled for a new text.

**Surely she'll say yes. – SH**

_'The bastard!'_

"John?" Mary's face was registering growing suspicion because if there is one thing that she was sure of, it's that Sherlock Holmes is the last person to inquire about John's love life - anyone's love life for that matter.

Except Molly's.

"Well, he knew that we were suppo-." He was cutoff by another buzz. There was a split second pause where both John and Mary just stared at his phone before finally eyeing each other.

The doctor always had very good reflexes but nothing beats a determined woman.

More so, a determined and  _curious_  woman.

Five seconds later, he was phoneless and staring at his girlfriend as she read his text. God forbid Sherlock ruins his proposal plans…well…he doesn't really have plans yet, but he was certain that it will never involve a scenario where his girlfriend learns about it from his  _bestfriend_  through  _text_.

"What box? John what does he mean by this?" She turned the screen to him.

**Especially if you show her the content of** **_the box. – SH_ **

Somehow, the emphasis didn't settle well with him, so with caution he extracted his phone from Mary's hands and looked at her in the eyes.

"He was asking if I already asked you for a make up date and if I've already given you my gift." He then kissed her and hurriedly stood up. "Now seeing as he ruined the surprise, I better go home and berate him about it. So bye, love you." Without waiting for Mary he hurriedly left her house.

He didn't receive anymore text from his flatmate and he was fairly certain that the man was in their flat, sitting in his chair, phone in hand and his trademark smirk plastered in his face.

_'Well, if Sherlock Holmes wants to play it that way, so be it.'_

When he got home, the detective was indeed in his chair with his hands stippled in a familiar prayer pose and was looking at him. He narrowed his eyes at the man who was staring at him with equal intensity. Vaguely, he took note of the appearance of their flat which didn't appear to suffer any consequences.

That was when it hit him.

_'He did not!'_

"Sherlock!"

"John." The detective was calm and patronizing, contrary to the doctor who's starting to feel the bites of anger.

"Give it back!"

"First, return my skull…"

John had decided early on that the skull would serve as a collateral in case Sherlock pulls a fast one against him - which is usually the case.

"Give. Me. The. Ring." John approached Sherlock and was glad that the detective was sitting, thus allowing him to tower over the man and hopefully, inspire intimidation.

"…and my body parts as well." However, Sherlock remained passive which only served to hike up the irritation of John.

"You don't seem to be missing any."

' _But you will if you don't give it back_ '

 **"** You know what I mean. **"**

He certainly did, and at that moment he knew it has begun. So with as much self-control as he can, he summoned his patience and smoothed his face to mirror the calmness of his flatmate. When he felt steady enough, he went to sit on his couch opposite the detective. Sinking in further, he ignored the intense stare of his friend but instead reached for the day's newspaper and opened it noisily to the editorials.

"You know, Mary had an interesting encounter last night."

The doctor's vision maybe obscured by the newspaper, but his ears treated him to the loud but satisfying sound of Sherlock's bedroom door slamming shut.

When he was fairly certain that he was alone, he allowed the newspaper to fall on his lap and brought his hands to his face. He thought about the little casualties of this war. The skull is safe, after all it has survived death, but the other one…

_'Surely, he'll take care of the ring. Right?'_

The rest of their Saturday was spent in silence, with Sherlock holed up in his room and John actually making plans for the  _make up_ date. When dinner came and Sherlock still didn't grace the doctor his presence, John briefly wondered if he had gone too far by bringing up the interesting anecdote shared to him by his girlfriend about her and Molly's night out.

Apparently,  _someone_  seemed to have taken a detour and instead of following a raven haired pathologist, ended up sitting behind another pathologist that had gotten progressively inebriated and therefore progressively talkative. What amazed John about the narrative was the fact that Mary spotted and recognized that  _someone._ As a rule,  _he_  was supposed to be a master of disguise. She didn't call him out because she had found the entire situation fascinating and mutually beneficial, however a brief eye contact sent the  _stranger_ scurrying off with a silent understanding that he had been caught.

Now said  _stranger_ was in his room probably under the false pretense that if he didn't make any sound, John would suddenly suffer selective amnesia. The doctor thought he had finally found something that would make the detective shut up and he went to bed with the assurance that he was going to get a good night's sleep.

Of course that didn't last either.

Now at 2:30 of Sunday morning, he is engaged in another battle of will.

Planting his bare feet on the floor, he flicked the bow away and crossed his arms over his chest.

" I'm not returning the skull, unless you return my ring." Sherlock's eyes turned into narrow slits upon the declaration. "So stop being such a prat now."

"Need I remind you that you started this?"

Despite their years together, Sherlock's audacity still astounds John. "No, you started this when you pushed me into that fountain while stalking. Now tell me, how did that work for you?"

"First of all, I did not push you into that fountain. You weren't paying attention that is why  _you fell. Second…_ " To John's amazement Sherlock began to look uncomfortable. "…he disappeared."

"What?" John wasn't sure to which statement his question was directed. For now however, he's more surprised by the second.

"I said he disappeared!" The declaration was accented with an up-bow that drew a high-pitched note.

"James Kirk disappeared?!" It was unbelievable. How can a civilian disappear from the sight of a detective? Well, more of consulting detective, but the best one.

_'Simply because he is the only one.'_

This time, a down-bow. "Really John, must you repeat everything I say? Yes, he disappeared. He turned around a corner and when I got there, he was gone."

To John, it sounded like something straight out of a movie. His times with Sherlock taught him that nobody could easily disappear like that. Sometimes they may lose the trail, but Sherlock always picks it up. Yet now here he was, telling John that a man just vanished in thin air under his watch.

"How could he possibly disappear from you?"

Another screeching up-bow.

"I don't know. It wasn't a particularly crowded street and I checked the shops, he wasn't in any of them."

"Do you think something happened to him?" The doctor immediately thought of calling Molly, but then he realized the time.

"No, we would have heard something from Lestrade right now if that were the case." Sherlock then pointed his bow towards John. "But now you see, something is different about Kirk. No  _ordinary_  man disappears that easily."

Sherlock looked very smug but John's mind focused on something else.

"What does Lestrade have to do with any of this?"

"Missing Person cases are always reported to the police." John was almost convinced.  _Almost_.

"Sherlock, you can't just involve The Yard on your crazy suspicion against James Kirk!"

"One, Lestrade is not  _The Yard_ and two, it's not a crazy suspicion. I have viable reason to support it." He ended his statement with another up-bow.

"And that reason would be?"

_'…you're jealous'_

Sherlock scowled at him and he gladly took it in. After all, he was trying to be patronizing. "I already told you."

_'More of shown me'_

"Huh…" John nodded, desperately trying to conceal a smirk while eyeing the detective up and down. "Yeah, yeah you did."

Sherlock's scowl turned into a glare. Good, because now he was being condescending.

"Listen Sherlock, I know about what you have heard last night from Molly..." For a moment he thought Sherlock was going to deny it, but the detective remained silent. "…and I think that meant you should stop this.

An uncomfortable silence passed between the two as Sherlock stared at John. To the blogger, Sherlock looked like he was deeply considering what the doctor had said.

Of course looks could be deceiving.

"How much sentiment did Mary inject in her storytelling?" Sherlock looked at him haughtily but the blogger ignored it, instead he focused on driving his point home.

"Sherlock! Mary said you were there when Molly used the  _L-word_  to describe her relationship to Kirk."

"I see, that much then. John are you aware that you have reverted back to the language pattern of a 15-year old girl?"

"Well then, in case you don't understand a teenager's  _lingo_ let me restate it in  _adult language._ "John was tired, sleepy and pissed off. He was nearing his end, but John Watson never gives up. "Molly said she  _loves_ him!"

The detective's eyes flashed with annoyance. Sentiment has that effect on him. "Did Mary also tell you how much Mojito Molly has consumed by that time?"

"Which lowered her inhibition, making her more likely to express her true feelings!" John wildly gestured through the air as exasperation bubbled inside him.

They fell into another prolonged silence. This time however, Sherlock's face looked grave.

_'Yes Sherlock, drink in the truth!'_

John was glad he decided not to back down from this argument.

"On Lestrade's birthday you told him he was handsome after consuming your 7th pint."

Sometimes though, retreating is inevitable.

He was already at the foot of the staircase when he turned back for one last effort. "The word was  _love,_ Sherlock. Women like Molly don't use that word lightly."

The flat was eerily quite for the rest of the early morning.


	5. The Confrontation part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had only been three days, but the doctor is already feeling exhaustion equivalent to what he experienced on cases ranked 8 by Sherlock. These meetings with Mycroft reminded him of a different meeting at Speedy's, where he had just been convinced by the older Holmes to lie about the situation of The Woman. Personally, John thought he did a good job lying to his bestfriend, but somehow he had an inkling that Sherlock already knew the real situation and was just humouring him. That experience thought him one thing: it is useless to try lying to Sherlock, so if Mycroft really wants him to do something akin to lying to the consulting detective, then he better provide John a damn good reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N/A: How dare I update this story after more than a year? HOW DARE I?
> 
> Seriously though, sorry if it took me this long. I know how it feels to wait for a story to update or to see that what you have been reading hadn't been updated for a long time. So I am really SORRY. I don't have a regular habit of writing. Besides, jotting down words to form a story was never easy for me in the first place. Nevertheless, I am still trying my best to finish my stories so just please be patient with me and if you are still giving this story a chance and is still willing to read this then A BIG THANK YOU
> 
> Also, just a heads up, I know that I promised the appearance of Molly in this chapter but after reconstructing the whole story, there was another confrontation that had to happen before THE BIG ONE so again, just please bear with me – as a compensation I tried to make this as fun and snarky as possible (you'll see what I mean).
> 
> There goes my long note…please enjoy

The rest of the Sunday morning passed uneventfully, allowing John to make up for his lost sleep. It was already lunch time when the sun had become too bright and his room had become too warm for him to enjoy more time of uninterrupted slumber. Though already fully awake, the draining events of the previous days had made him move like a sloth – so slow that the clock already reads 1 in the afternoon before he finally found himself ambling down the stairs and towards their kitchen. As he got closer to his destination, he began preparing himself for the sight of his bohemian flat mate in his ratty blue dressing gown, with his hair sticking all around while in the midst of his famous  _Sherlockian Sulk Party._

' _I wonder how many livers had suffered mutilation today? Wait…that sounds wrong. Or not, it's Sherlock, after all. Goodness, how messed up are my boundaries now?'_

The simple question soon birthed more wanderings, each becoming more philosophical and frankly, increasingly hard to answer. In no time, the doctor became unfortunately immersed with his near metaphysical inquiries, that he entirely bypassed his plan of watching out for  _Sulky Sherlock_ before entering the kitchen. He was already reaching out for the coffee pot when he became aware of his surroundings and the fact that there seems to be a lack of dark aura emanating from a certain consulting detective.

Instead, he's feeling the presence of something more menacing, seated behind him at Sherlock's chair.

With steady hands, he placed the pot back to the counter top, before taking a deep breathe.

"Should I be honoured or alarmed for the multiple visits, Mycroft?"

Turning around, the doctor was welcomed with the visage of an immaculately dressed older Holmes, calmly seated in his brother's chair like he owns it, along with every other chair in England or possibly the whole world.

With a practiced smile that John was sure had graced the presence of many world leaders, half of which were probably already ousted or worse, Mycroft Holmes gave his full attention to the bed-headed war veteran.

"Oh, we both know the answer to that, Doctor Watson."

' _How_ _ **unfortunately**_ _true.'_

"Where is he, by the way? Surely your presence would have lured him out of his hidey-hole by now." Already feeling drained, John turned back and proceeded to pour coffee in his mug. "I'd offer you some tea, but seeing as you've already had yours…"

"How quaint." Mycroft's speech is the embodiment of damped down posh RP accent – neutral, frank with an edge that always makes everyone wonder if there was sarcasm in it or not. "My brother's rubbing off on you. Having good observation skills is a mark of a good doctor."

John would have taken that as a compliment. Except, it was spoken by Mycroft Holmes and Mrs Hudson's china tea set is gleaming from their coffee table.

"Why don't we just skip to the part where you tell me why you are here, Mycroft?" Turning around to face the older Holmes, John proceeded to his armchair opposite Sherlock's and sat heavily, already feeling the weight of Mycroft's  _tidings._

"I am here for the same reason as when I visited you last Friday."

No matter how dispassionate the older Holmes' delivery of his reason, it wasn't impassive enough to cause no stirrings in John. It's in fact, quite the opposite.

' _Oh god no. Coffee is not strong enough to cut it out for me.'_

With a pointed look, John fully raised his head to stare at The British Government. "Tell me Mycroft, is James Kirk a bioterrorist? Or god-forbid, a second Moriarty? Is he some master criminal planning for world domination? Please be honest, because I haven't had enough coffee in my system to take crappy lies" To prove his point, he took a long sip that was enough to drain half of his cup.

"No, fortunately he is not part of the criminal world."

' _Goodness, did I just hear_ _ **relief**_ _in Mycroft's voice?'_

Genius he may be, but Mycroft was not quick enough for John Watson – a long suffering flatmate cum bestfriend who has to learn how to adopt and survive by picking up on miniscule changes and lightning fast ticks of a genius consulting detective.

"Okay then, is he a real life time-lord?"

"Excuse me?"

John's question had brought confusion to the pristine mind of Mycroft. Unfortunately for the older man, the doctor wasn't quite finished yet.

"Or is he an alien? A time traveller? A genetic superhuman? A shapeshifter? Is he an avenger? Or is he a norse god?"

"John…"

"He must be  _something_ , Mycroft! I can understand Sherlock's fixation on him because your brother is now seeing that his  _pigtail pulling tactic_  is not working anymore and he is on the verge of losing Molly to someone else. But you…" John narrowed his eyes as he intensely watched the body movements of The British Government. "Your active participation is what's puzzling and worrying me. If James Kirk is as insignificant and as ordinary as you told me last time, then why are you here… _again?_ "

It had only been three days, but the doctor is already feeling exhaustion equivalent to what he experienced on cases ranked 8 by Sherlock. These meetings with Mycroft reminded him of a different meeting at Speedy's, where he had just been convinced by the older Holmes to lie about the situation of The Woman. Personally, John thought he did a good job lying to his bestfriend, but somehow he had an inkling that Sherlock already knew the real situation and was just humouring him. That experience thought him one thing: it is useless to try lying to Sherlock, so if Mycroft really wants him to do something akin to lying to the consulting detective, then he better provide John a damn good reason.

Silence took over the situation for a few seconds. Mycroft's straight face –  _'truly a mark of The Iceman' –_ was unreadable to John, so he can't figure out if the other man was contemplating how to answer him or whether he is already being silently insulted for all the pop culture references he had just dropped. On thing is sure however, if the conversations within the past few minutes have broken the usually cool demeanour of Mycroft Holmes, he's clearly past it already for his detached exterior was in place again as he leans forward in preparation to answering John.

"Your first mistake John, is your assumption that what I am currently doing now could be classified as  _active participation_ **.** " The lukewarm smile was back in place as well, "Trust me when I say, that you wouldn't have seen me here if I am… _truly_  involved in this situation."

Mycroft's heavily laced response failed to surprise John. "Can I take that as a confession that otherwise, I would have been sitting here reading today's paper and finding James Kirk's name under Missing Persons List?" Finishing off his coffee with another long sip, John reciprocated Mycroft's jovial expression with one of his own  _I-am-not-even-trying_ smile. The doctor has long learned that carrying a sassy attitude when dealing with the Holmes brothers is one of the few ways that could help him keep his sanity.

"Of course not, John!" Mycroft answered with a dismissive wave of his left hand, as his other hand reached for his tea cup. Bringing the delicate china to his mouth, the older Holmes spoke again before taking a sip. "It wouldn't have been as late as today's paper."

' _God help Britain.'_

John wasn't sure whether the racing beat of his heart was brought by his quick consumption of his coffee or with the fact that the fate of Britain – the country he fought for, the country he's willing to die for – is in the hands of someone like Mycroft Holmes.

"So, if this is you not being involved, then what is this? Why do you want me to keep Sherlock away from James Kirk?" Truth be told, John does not need prompting from Mycroft to act upon keeping the consulting detective and the charismatic pathologist from crossing each other's paths again – not after Friday night's revelation from Molly and _…_

' _Well…"_

…Sherlock's  _still_ non-self-revelation.

It really is quite obvious. Perhaps even James Kirk sensed it on some level. Really, the only people who have no idea are  _sadly,_ Molly and Sherlock. The more unfortunate matter is, if Sherlock remains stubborn it could possibly remain that way forever. Knowing the tendencies of his friend that stems from - what John suspects - a terribly repressed nature and stunted emotional growth, this whole charade could go on with the consulting detective believing that his interest with figuring out James Kirk lies on stumbling at another puzzle and needing it to be solved.

Mycroft's attitude on the whole matter isn't helping either. His continuous intrusions and obstinate insistence that James Kirk is just another Jack carrying on with his earnest life, is just making the pathologist look like the Somerton Man in John's eyes. This is only serving to make John believe that maybe James Kirk really is a puzzle that Sherlock has to solve.

' _Oh god he is influencing me now, as well!'_

"I have already explained my reason as to why I want you to keep Sherlock away from James Kirk." Mycroft's patrician voice cut through John's musings. "I am here to emphasize it again. James Kirk is  _just_  a  _distraction_." Something instantly changed in Mycroft's eyes. Whatever it was, the doctor can't identify it. Suddenly, Mycroft's clear brown eyes just seemed to pin him at his chair, rendering him unable to move and look anywhere else.

Within a few seconds however, it was gone. Unfortunately, its damage had already been done and John was barely able to repress a shudder that threatened to break throughout his whole body.

In a moment, Mycroft "the unreadable" Holmes was back. "Truth be told, I have a very delicate case for my brother and by extension, for you." The British Government's cold smile returned as his hand moved to take a folder located almost hidden at his side. He then proceeded to reach out and give it to John, but just as the doctor's hand touched the edge of the folder, the older Holmes inched back. "I cannot emphasize more just how  _important_ this case is for keeping international peace. Just know that if this remained unsolved within a week, I fear that volatile forces – people we cannot easily stop – will make their move. My brother cannot afford to be distracted by petty… _sentiment._ " With that, he leaned forward again and allowed John to take the heavy folder from his hand.

Without waiting for the doctor to be able to examine the contents of the folder, Mycroft rose from his seat and started buttoning his dress coat. "Please ensure that this case becomes my brother's top priority. Time wasted could cost lives." After slinging his brolly to his forearm, Mycroft gave John one last pointed look. "My brother gets easily distracted by small things. That big brain of his sometimes causes him to see things where there is none." With that, The British Government proceeded towards the door.

With the heavy folder in his hand, John could see thick sheets of paper and edges of photographs that surely belonged to a crime scene. The weight of the folder, together with Mycroft's grave warning threw out almost all of the Holmes-Kirk-Hooper affair from his mind.

_Almost_

"Sometimes though, that big brain of his causes him to miss things, as well." John's strong declaration halted Mycroft from his exit. "Sentiment is never petty. It could be exaggerated or misguided, but it is never trivial or negligible." Like a true soldier, John didn't back down from Mycroft's hard stare.

In his part, the older Holmes regarded the war veteran with frigid precision and apathy. He was probing John like the doctor was a mathematical equation that was solving to an improbability. Eventually though, he broke the silence. "Your opinion is noted, doctor." With a small nod, he then turned around towards the exit.

The older Holmes had already stepped outside the door when John called out.

"You never told me my other mistake!"

Without turning around, the older Holmes merely replied. "A little puzzle for you to solve, doctor."

* * *

Almost an hour after Mycroft's visit, John was interrupted from his perusal of the contents of the case folder by the loud shrill of his phone. Upon seeing the name of his fiancée, his shoulder felt lighter – here was his little ray of sunshine calling him.

"Hello, lo-"

"John, are you at home? Is Sherlock with you?" Mary's distressed voice was far from the joyous and soothing sound that John had hoped to hear.

' _Oh god, what had he done now?'_

"No he's not yet here. In fact, I don't know where he is. Why? What happened?" As panic seeped through the doctor, flashes of events surrounding Sherlock's fake death raced through his mind.

' _Breathe in, Breathe out. Hold yourself together!"_

"Well, you see…Sherlock, he-"

Just as Mary was about to explain, a loud bang from downstairs caused John to jump from his seat. It was then proceeded by thunderous stomping and the appearance of a hurricane in the form of Sherlock Holmes. Dark, loud and violent, Sherlock resembled a tempest at its height as he crossed their living room. Leaving a wake of destruction in the form of flying papers, an upturned table that blocked his way and was mindlessly kicked and a broken vase deprived of its stable platform, Sherlock swept through their flat until he reached his room. He then slammed his door shut, causing some of his beakers to topple over and break. However, as sudden as his appearance was, so was his retreat in his room. For a while, only the dying ringing of the rattled glass test tubes resounded throughout the flat.

John remained speechless as the spectacle played out in front of him. Even after Sherlock had forcibly closed his door, the soldier remained alert of any disturbing noise that could emanate from his friend. However, silence reigned from the younger man's room. If it weren't for the scattered papers and broken furniture, John could have convinced himself that what he saw was just a spectre of some sort.

Eyeing the mess that his friend had created, John took a deep breath before lifting his phone back to his ear.

"He had arrived."

"Yeah, I heard." Mary's voice sounded as tentative as John felt. The doctor brought his hand to smoothen through the worries etched on the planes of his face. With a defeated sigh, he then asked the question whose answer he's already terrified of.

"What did he do?"

For a while Mary remained silent, causing anxiety to build within the doctor. Within that space of time, he felt the slow transformation of Sherlock's room into a gaping black hole of all things unknown. Mary's soft breathing was the only certainty for John and he relied on its steady pattern as he waited for her.

"Sherlock he…well. He made Molly cry."


End file.
